


A Quarter Tone Apart

by emj1s



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, College Student Bucky Barnes, D/s undertones, Daddy Kink, M/M, Shrunkyclunks, Subspace, Top Steve Rogers, birthday fic, happy birthday bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emj1s/pseuds/emj1s
Summary: He has a class to pass, and a degree to earn, and he doesn’t have time to--“Come sit on Daddy’s lap. C’mon, sweet thing,” that voice says, low and honey-sweet, and an embarrassing, quiet whine escapes Bucky before he can stop it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 14
Kudos: 497





	A Quarter Tone Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://mareviils.tumblr.com/post/612021497604734976/baby-boy-youve-been-working-all-day-and-you) incredible post by [Mareviils](https://mareviils.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!

The door slams behind Bucky, and he winces. He hadn’t meant to throw it closed behind him with that amount of force, but here he is, and he chalks it up to yet another ridiculous aspect of this fucking day. 

His laptop bag comes off his shoulder, and he tosses it a little more carelessly than he should onto the table, ripping at the zipper of his soft hoodie. His boots get kicked off carelessly, jacket thrown over the back of a chair, and he takes one second to close his eyes and shove his fingers through his hair, pulling roughly before looking at the clock on the wall.

He’s home about three hours later than usual, having ended up staying late after class in the library, trying to make this latest assignment make sense. He still isn’t done, but he’s starving; he’s got enough time to shove some dinner in his face before he’s got to get back on his laptop and get back to work. His shoulders slump.

Happy fucking birthday to him.

He’s just starting to drag himself towards the kitchen when the bedroom door opens and his wet dream of a boyfriend comes through. Even Bucky’s bad mood can’t keep a small smile from twitching onto his lips.

“Buck,” Steve says, smiling, but his brows are pinched together in concern. “I was about to call you. I was startin’ to get worried.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, and he shakes his head, watching as Steve makes his way to the couch. The older man sits down and stretches out on the cushions, boots and all, and jealousy rears sour in the back of Bucky’s throat. “It’s this damn essay - I’m still not done, I’m going to make some ramen or something and get back on it, actually.” He tears his eyes away from the way Steve is lounging, casual and comfortable like there’s nothing to be done but relax, and makes it a few steps away before Steve’s voice, pitched low and warm, interrupts him.

“Sugar.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches in annoyance, but not at Steve; at himself, for how easily he comes to a complete stop at that sweet nickname. His mouth twists and he turns his head to look back at Steve, tension settling itself in the muscles along his spine to keep him standing stock still and board straight.

“What?” he asks quietly, his voice small even to his own ears, a little vulnerable. 

“Baby boy, you’ve been working all day,” Steve says softly, shifting, lifting one arm to rest behind his head. “You look exhausted.” Bucky huffs, but he knows it’s true; he’d gotten an early - for him, at least - start today, had hit the ground running with a study group, his usual late morning classes, a quick lunch with his mother, and then that damn library. The day has left him drained to the bone, face pale and sad with a frown pulling down his mouth, and he just wants to walk to the couch and flop on top of Steve’s solid chest, whine away his troubles and let the other soothe him.

It’s his fucking  _ birthday, _ he thinks to himself, and he’s spent the whole day full of anxious, nervous energy that he would have rather spent on literally anything else, and he’s not even done yet. He looks away from Steve.

“Geez, thanks for that,” he says flatly, but even he can’t put the bite the words should have behind them. He knows Steve isn’t saying it to be mean, and the patient sigh he hears from across the living room confirms it. 

“You need a break,” Steve says instead of rising to the bait, and not for the first time, Bucky finds himself grateful for the peace that Steve is able to carry on those broad shoulders. He’s an American hero with a legacy of punch first, ask questions later, but when it comes to Bucky, he can be soft as hell, gentle and coaxing to Bucky’s raised hackles and icy defenses. Already Bucky can feel himself melting. 

Still. This day sucks, but that’s just how it is; not every birthday is magic, and besides, they have plans to celebrate this weekend. Today is just another day, really. Nothing special. There’s no reason for Bucky to be so up in arms about how bad it’s been, no reason for how upset he is that he can’t just shirk his responsibilities and demand his boyfriend’s attention.

He has a class to pass, and a degree to earn, and he doesn’t have time to--

“Come sit on Daddy’s lap. C’mon, sweet thing,” that voice says, low and honey-sweet, and an embarrassing, quiet whine escapes Bucky before he can stop it.

He looks away and closes his eyes, but he already knows what’s about to happen; it’s not often they play with names like  _ baby boy _ and  _ Daddy, _ but when they do, it breaks Bucky down in seconds. Already the tight lines of his back are relaxing, his shoulders are dropping, and he takes a step towards the couch. A soft, approving hum spills from deep in Steve’s chest, and that’s it; the final nail in the coffin.

He walks across the hardwood on socked feet, and he doesn’t feel guilty when he practically belly-flops on top of Steve, not even when he gives a playful  _ oof _ like Bucky’s soft weight has any chance of hurting him. Warm hands immediately find him, pressing wide palms into his sides and slipping down, fingertips teasing just beneath the hem of his shirt, and Bucky groans, tucking his face into the curve of Steve’s neck. The scruff of his beard rasps gently against Bucky’s smooth cheek, and it helps to settle him as he tucks his nose down and breathes in Steve’s aftershave. 

“There you go,” Steve murmurs approvingly, “there’s my boy.” Bucky flushes with the soft praise, but it’s the perfect balm to his frazzled nerves. He doesn’t say anything back, but he certainly doesn’t protest, either.

They lay in silence for a while, Bucky’s eyes sliding closed after a few minutes, lulled into relaxation by the gentle trail of Steve’s fingertips up and down his spine and the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. He dozes, loose and comfortable.

It’s not until one of Steve’s hands slips into the back pocket of his jeans and gives a deliberate squeeze that Bucky begins to shake the tendrils of sleep off.

“Wha--” he mumbles, starting to push himself up, but Steve’s other hand, still trailing over his back, gently pushes him back down with a gentle but unyielding pressure. 

“Hush, baby boy,” Steve rumbles, voice pitched low, and Bucky huffs quietly, but bites his tongue. Steve’s hand slides out of his pocket to reach just a few inches lower and get a good grip on Bucky’s ass through his jeans, squeezing once again, firm - almost rough. Bucky just hums, nosing at the soft dip of skin at Steve’s collarbone, and soon both of Steve’s hands have a hold of his ass, kneading and squeezing lazily.

“Bit of an unconventional birthday massage,” Bucky mumbles, flushed and enjoying the attention. 

“Can’t a man just show appreciation for his boyfriend’s perfect ass?” Steve asks, and it makes Bucky squirm a little, pulling a chuckle from Steve. “Aw, sugar. Don’t go getting shy on me. You know you got the best ass in Brooklyn.”

“Just Brooklyn?” Bucky asks before he can stop himself, and Steve tosses his head back with a laugh. One hand lifts, coming down on Bucky’s ass in a spank that makes him squeak and jerk, but the motion is light and the jeans numb the sensation of it.

“Don’t fish for compliments, sweetheart,” Steve admonishes softly, “you’ll make me think I don’t give you enough attention.” Bucky whines, fingers curling in the fabric of Steve’s tight shirt.

“‘M sorry,” he says, voice muffled, and Steve outright coos at him.

“Don’t apologize, baby,” he says softly, “I know you love the compliments. The attention. I know you can’t help but be a brat sometimes, huh?” He squeezes Bucky’s ass again. “Anything to get Daddy’s focus on you, like it’s ever anywhere else.” Steve’s lips brush against Bucky’s forehead, and something warm and soft begins to curl up in Bucky’s chest, right around his heart. “Ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” Bucky breathes after a few silent moments, his voice barely audible, but even without the serum enhancing his senses, Steve’s nearness would have let him catch it. The approving little rumble that he gives is enough to make Bucky want to cling to him, to wiggle impossibly closer, slide beneath Steve’s clothes, if he could, inside his chest, where it’s bright and safe and he’d be taken care of. He doesn’t get the chance to so much as wriggle, though, because Steve’s hands are sliding off of Bucky’s ass and instead gripping his thighs, shifting the both of them around with purposeful, slow movements that have Steve leading Bucky around until Steve is sitting properly on the couch, back against the rest and feet on the floor, and Bucky’s in Steve’s lap. He doesn’t even make him lift his head, lets him keep his face hidden in his shoulder, and doesn’t say a word as he kisses Bucky’s temple, his cheekbone, his jawline, hands back on his ass and beginning to guide the both of them into a rhythm of slow, dirty rolls of their hips.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, but Steve softly tuts, shakes his head, and lifts a hand to slide into Bucky’s hair. At first it’s soft, just carding through the thick locks, short at the back, but soon his fingers curl into a fist and use the grip to raise Bucky’s head, force him to look Steve in the face with a gasp as the sting that goes through his scalp and rocks through his body.

“Try again,” Steve says, and his eyes are searching Bucky’s looking for hesitation, for discomfort, but all they find is the way stress is finally,  _ finally _ beginning to slip from Bucky’s frame.

“Daddy,” Bucky says, easy as anything, and the proud smile that appears on Steve’s face is enough to take Bucky’s breath away.

Suddenly essays don’t matter. Classes don’t matter. Degrees don’t matter. What matters is seeing that smile, knowing that he put it there, and knowing that if he just does what Daddy says, it’ll stay. 

“Good boy,” Steve says, and his hips roll again, making Bucky gasp and sink his teeth into his lip. Steve pulls his hair again, slow and inescapable, until his head is dropping back and the long line of his pale throat is stretched out. Warm lips find his soft skin, kiss up the line of it, until a hot tongue can lick at his pulse point. 

Bucky groans, and finally, he starts moving with Steve, taking over the lazy rocking with some pointed grinding of his own, ass pressing down onto Steve’s cock and his own dick, hardening in his jeans, pressing forward against Steve’s stomach. 

“Fuck,” he sighs out, and Steve hums in agreement. His hands come down, undoing Bucky’s fly with practiced ease, sliding his jeans down his hips. It takes some maneuvering, Steve’s strong grip effectively keeping Bucky from falling right over, but they get his jeans off of him, dropped carelessly to the floor until Bucky’s left in his t-shirt and his tight briefs. 

Steve sits Bucky back down in his lap, and this time a hand slides beneath the fabric of his underwear, grabbing the bare skin of his ass and letting his fingers bite hard into the muscle. Bucky squirms with it, shivering and pushing back into the touch.

“Eager little thing,” Steve says sweetly, squeezing again, and then he shifts; his fingers slide between Bucky’s cheeks, a dry fingertip ghosting over his hole, and Bucky feels his cock jerk.

“Oh,” he sighs out, brow furrowing, and Steve hums. 

“You want it, sweetheart?” Steve asks, rubbing at his entrance in a soft touch, and Bucky nods, shameless in this soft, easy space that Steve’s effortlessly created for them. “Yeah,” Steve answers for him, “yeah. You want it.”

Steve leans the smallest bit forwards, and Bucky meets him halfway, pressing their lips together in a slow, lazy kiss. It’s a little wet, Bucky panting as Steve’s fingers move against him, and he can feel himself leaning to the side to follow Steve as he stretches for their end table and pulls the drawer open.

It’s a quick shuffle before he finds the lube, and the familiar  _ click _ of the lid snapping open feels like it pulls a damn Pavlovian response from Bucky; he whines, shifts his hips, drops his hands to shove his briefs down around his thighs so he doesn’t have to wait for Steve to free him of them. 

“Oh, sugar,” Steve breathes against Bucky’s lips. “So damn eager for it.” Bucky nods his agreement, shifts his hips back, and then Steve’s fingers return, warm and wet. 

“Yeah, Daddy,” he breathes, whines when Steve finally pushes a finger inside him.

Things start happening pretty quickly then.

It’s all hot breath and messy kisses and whispered praise, Steve’s voice spiralling in his head, calling him  _ sugar _ and  _ babydoll _ and a  _ sweet little thing, _ and soon Bucky’s whining and pushing back on three of Steve’s fingers. 

_ “Daddy,” _ he whimpers - nearly sobs - and Steve shushes him softly, pulling his fingers out and finally reaching down to free his own cock. Bucky surges up, kissing Steve hard as Steve gets a grip on his own cock, one hand holding the base and the other gripping Bucky’s hip, and as soon as he feels the wet head brush his entrance, Bucky goes still, lets Steve guide him down onto it.

The sound he lets out as he’s filled would embarrass him if he could think that coherently, but all he can focus on is the stretch of Steve’s cock, the ache it builds up slow and then soothes as he adjusts. 

Steve lets him sit there like that for a few moments, letting him catch his breath as he seats himself fully on Steve’s cock. He kisses him so sweetly, brushing his lips over his, teasing his mouth open with his tongue, tracing his teeth and teasing the roof of his mouth until Bucky’s jaw is slack, and slowly, so slowly, he lifts up and then lowers himself back down.

The sounds it punches out of the both of them egg them on, and soon Steve’s strong hands are squeezing Bucky’s hips, helping to guide him up and down as he pumps himself up inside him.    
“Oh, baby boy,” Steve groans out, “so fuckin’ sweet, that’s it, just be so sweet for me,” and it’s the easiest order for Bucky to follow in his life. He whines and whimpers, feels Steve’s big cock drag in and out of him, opening him up, until the slide is easier and faster and he’s panting, moaning, pulling at Steve’s hair and his shirt and kissing at his bearded cheek, the hair soft yet rough. 

He finally gets a hand in Steve’s hair and tugs it sharply, making Steve gasp and punch his hips up, and it draws a loud, desperate moan out of Bucky. Steve growls, and suddenly the room is swinging around and Bucky is staring at the ceiling, wide eyed.

Steve’s moved them so fast he almost missed it, pressing Bucky onto his back onto the couch and settling between his thighs. He throws one leg over his shoulder, pushes the other towards Bucky’s chest, and when he slides back inside him it’s anything but gentle. Bucky throws a hand up above his head to push against the armrest of the couch as he cries out, bracing himself against the onslaught of pleasure as Steve starts fucking him rough and deep.

“Oh, fuck,  _ yes,” _ Bucky moans, and this, this is what he needed; there’s not an ounce of tension in him now, not when Steve is driving into him hard and perfect, making his body jolt with every thrust. He’s angled just right, pleasure rocketing through his body with every press of Steve’s hips, and he can’t shut up; sounds are just pouring out of him, and his eyes stare up, unseeing, unfocused; he can make out the shape of Steve above him, but with a shit of his hips, an adjustment of angle, suddenly Bucky’s eyes are rolling back, and he can’t see much of anything at all.

“Baby,  _ baby,” _ Steve moans, and Bucky feels a hand wrap around his cock, squeeze just right, stroke him a few times, and that’s it, Bucky’s done for; he comes with a sob, his whole body jerking on the couch. 

His mind goes blessedly, blissfully silent, a roaring in his ears that might be his own scream the only thing he can hear. There’s the sensation of something hot and wet inside him, the feeling of the motion of Steve’s cock stopping, but his head is floating too far for him to register it for what it is until Steve pulls out. Bucky whines, but his limbs are too rubbery for him to try to grab Steve to stop him.

He doesn’t need to, anyway; Steve’s hands might release him, but they’re right back, scooping Bucky up into his arms. Bucky grumbles, but it’s a token protest, eyes still shut as his head lands on Steve’s shoulder. There’s motion, the soft click of a door latch, and then he’s on something soft and cool, able to stretch out.

He floats there, feeling a cloth wipe him down, a sheet pulled over him, and finally, a warm body presses into the bed next to him. 

He loses time.

When he drags himself back to full consciousness, it’s to soft fingers in his hair and softer lips brushing his forehead. 

“Buck,” a soft voice whispers, “you back with me?” He groans, and it earns him a chuckle.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Steve coaxes, and Bucky blinks his eyes open. He can’t even pretend to be grumpy, a soft, dopey smile appearing on his face when he sees the unbearably fond expression on Steve’s face.

“Hi,” he whispers, and Steve leans in and kisses him. 

“Hi, Buck,” he murmurs. Bucky groans, turning into Steve’s chest. Steve’s strong arms come around him unerringly, wrapping him up tight. 

They lay like that for a while, quiet and comfortable, before Bucky’s stomach gives a growl loud enough that it can’t be ignored, and Steve laughs while Bucky groans in embarrassment. 

“Good thing I ordered food,” Steve says, and Bucky perks right back up.    
“You did?” he asks, and Steve nods. 

“Your favorite,” he tells him, and Bucky’s heart thumps. “After all, it’s your birthday.” Bucky laughs softly, leaning up to brush his nose gently against Steve’s.

“Best. Birthday. Ever,” he mumbles, and Steve snorts, kissing him between the eyebrows.

“You said that last year,” he refutes, but Bucky just hums and shrugs.

Every birthday is the best now. So long as Steve is at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Truth by Bloc Party. Unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Come find me on [tumblr](https://emj1s.tumblr.com) and [twitter!](https://twitter.com/emj1s)


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